An Eye For An Eye
by iamconcussed
Summary: Draco feels betrayed by Harry and takes matters into his own hands by returning the favor: sleeping with Harry's girlfriend. Unfortunately, Draco finds himself caring for the redhead more than he planned.


How could this happen? When he hired that private detective, he was sure the man would find his fiancée with her tongue in another man's mouth, but not this man. This was much worse than anything he could have imagined. He would feel less betrayed if he found out it was his own father she was sleeping with.

"Stupid, cocky bastard. So-called savior of the world," Draco spat, flipping through the photographs that were delivered to his flat in London that evening. "Blaise, come look at this one. I should have the arsehole killed!" He threw the picture onto the table between the men, and picked up his glass of scotch. "Can you believe him? I invite him into my home for dinners, birthdays, holidays and he returns the favor by sleeping with Astoria! To think I was thanking him for keeping an eye on her whenever I was away on work."

Blaise studied the picture in his hands. It was through a window, that much Blaise could tell. He tried to ignore the two naked figures and focus on where they were, though the darkness made it difficult. He was quite interested in how they had been keeping this secret for so long. "Mate," Blaise said carefully, as he recognized a painting on the far wall behind Astoria's writhing body. He grew up seeing that painting almost daily in the summer. "Did you notice where this is?"

Draco picked his head up from his hands. "No. Was it my office? Did it happen to be under my desk while I made money for her to spend?"

Blaise shifted uncomfortable in his seat and set the photograph back down. It made sense that they would choose somewhere that Draco tended to avoid. It was a place where, if he had to go, he would most likely bring one of the two for company. "It's in the Manor. The painting in the background, it's in the East wing master bedroom."

The speed at which Draco snatched the picture from the table was incredible. "In my own fucking house? In my fucking bedroom?" he yelled. He was so mixed with anger and pain that he began to resemble a madman.

"Draco, just take a deep breath. You need to calm down or you'll do something rash," Blaise explained, pulling the photo from Draco's hands. "I'll get you some potion, it'll sober you up a bit. We can go over to mine and watch that movie you were talking about the other day." He looked at Draco, who was seated with his eyes closed and his head bowed. Blaise figured he didn't look like he was getting up anytime soon. "It'll be fine. You don't have to see either of them for at least a week. She's still in Pairs with her mother, and he's in the States on business. You can put your whole 'eye for an eye' plan on pause." He studied his still friend and frowned. "I'll be right back."

Draco stood quickly and pulled a sobering potion from his top drawer. He downed it and fixed himself up with a few spells before Apparating on the spot.

"Oh, bloody hell," Blaise groaned when the Apparation pop echoed through the halls of the flat.

This was the place, Draco thought. He had only been there three or four times before, but it was hard for him to forget things. It was a Muggle building, so he had no problem getting past the front door with a simple spell. It would be surprising for many to learn that one of the biggest Quidditch stars in the league lived in a Muggle building, but considering whom it was, he supposed it wasn't so surprising after all.

Taking a glance at his reflection in the lift's door, he made his way up the stairs to the fourth floor. He didn't trust Muggle lifts. He imagined he would have taken the stairs to the seventh floor if he had to.

He stopped in front of the last door on the right. Number 46. "An eye for an eye," he whispered to himself before knocking on the door.

"Just a second," a voice called from within. Only a moment later the door opened, a woman on the other side.

She wasn't as short as he remembered her. He could tell by her attire, an old Chuddly Cannon's shirt and a pair of cotton shorts, that she hadn't planned on any visitors. Her long red hair was pulled up into a bun on the top of her head, stray hairs sticking out on all sides. She looked both embarrassed and annoyed. "Harry's not here," she informed him with a sigh. "He's in America until next Sunday."

"I wasn't looking for him," Draco responded. He began to step forward, encouraging her to invite him in. Her expression said that she was most likely going to turn him away.

"What is it then, Draco?" she asked, leaning against the door and cocking her hip.

"I leant Harry a book a couple weeks ago and I was wondering if I could have a look round here for it," Draco explained, again trying to step into the flat. This time she allowed him to come in.

"I don't know why it would be here. This is not where he comes to get reading done. It's probably at his office," she said, closing the door behind him. She passed him and took a seat on the couch. "I suppose you can take a look around. When he does work here, it's in the spare. Just through there," she told him, pointing to the right of her and then picking up a wine glass from the table.

Draco watched her for a moment longer before entering the spare room. It was a workroom of sorts. There was a desk against the wall, in front of a vast window that overlooked the street. The table was covered in papers and Quidditch plays that were reenacting themselves over and over on the parchment. On another wall was a massive group shot of the Holyhead Harpies. Ginny was standing front and center, a fierce look in her brown eyes. Draco, having always loved both Quidditch and women, was a frequent member of the Holyhead Harpies's audience. Ignoring anything that might skew his opinions, Ginny really was one of the strongest chasers in the league.

"Did you find it?" she called from the other room.

Right, Draco remembered, he was supposed to be looking for some book he leant Harry. "No," he answered, reentering the main room.

Ginny was lounging across the couch, her knees up and giving her something to prop her own book against. "I told you it wouldn't be here. He's barely here anymore, anyway," she added quietly.

He sat in a chair perpendicular to the couch. "Why is that? I thought you two were doing quite well." It normally wouldn't hurt him to say such blatant lies, but something about her soft appearance made him wish he didn't know anything about Harry's infidelity.

"He's had to travel a lot recently. The time he is here, he always seems to be spending with friends," she answered with a shrug.

When Harry said 'friends,' he meant Astoria. At least Harry wasn't engaged to Ginny. Then Draco noticed the large ring on her left hand. It was quite beautiful and antique looking. Harry would never have been able to pick out something so gorgeous. The man always chose the worst jewelry. "Is that an engagement ring?" he asked her, leaning forward to get a better look at it.

She inspected it herself before angling it out so he could see it. "Oh, no. As if Harry has the nerve to do that. It's my great-grandmother's ring. It was carved by goblins as a gift for aiding them during their quest for rights. There's a lion in the center with the family's motto around it. _Fortes fortuna iuvat_," she told him.

"Fortune favors the brave," he translated with a nod of approval. "It's quite beautiful. It's the Prewett's sign, correct?" He liked the way she nodded and looked at him, as if she was so impressed that he would be able to name her family. "Rich history in the Prewetts. They were one of the most well known pureblood families. You know, the Blacks and the Prewetts attempted to create an alliance once upon a time. But my great-great-grandfather promised at my great-grandmother's birth that she would marry into a family that was not the Prewetts. After that, the Prewett's refused to allow any of their daughters to marry a Black. The alliance fell apart then. The Prewetts have never been fans of the Malfoys. I suppose it seems fitting that your mother married into the Weasley family."

Ginny listened intently, setting her book back on the table. She sat up properly on the couch and thought for a second before speaking. "I always think that all these blood feuds have almost completely dissolved with the war ending, but my mum said when she was young she thought they would end with her generation, too. I think we all believe we're past things and then something happens to prove that we're not."

"I like to believe I could be the start of a new connotation behind my family's name," Draco admitted, with a small frown.

"Would you care for a glass of wine?" Ginny asked him, standing before he answered.

"Thank you," he nodded, watching her walk into the kitchen.

He stood and took a minute alone to observe the flat. It was Ginny's place, but it was also where Harry lived when he was home. He tended to be home more during the winter months. It figured as much, since Ginny was home during summer, the off-season for Quidditch. It was clear a girl had decorated the place, but not obnoxiously so. The walls were sea foam green with pictures and posters framed and hung all around. There was a magic fireplace that allowed her to be connected to the floo, but was probably more for looks than function. He took a moment to watch each photo along the mantle of the fire, laughing out loud when his eyes came across the photo third from the left. It was a photo of Ginny holding a baby; probably her eldest brother's judging by how young Ginny seemed to be. The baby looked perfectly content in Ginny's arms, but the moment she handed it to Ron, the baby began crying.

Ginny reentered the room with a glass of red wine in her hand. "That's Victoire, Bill and Fleur's girl. She's seven now, but I could never take that picture down," she laughed, handing him the glass. They both returned to the couch, sitting awkwardly in silence. "So what was this book you leant Harry?"

Draco took a moment to sip his wine, searching for a title or topic that was believable. "Oh, just something about the judicial system in America. He was hoping to have some man they caught charged with something, but he was a bit confused about how it worked," Draco explained with a shrug.

"Ah," Ginny nodded, sipping her wine. "How are things with Astoria? I just saw her the other day, but she didn't see me. Well, she ignored me. We sort of made eye contact and she ran away from me. But, anyway, how are you two?"

Draco liked how she rambled. She shook her head periodically, realizing she was getting off topic. "Actually, we are not good." There was always sympathy to be had when one was cheated on. "I found out she was sleeping with a friend of mine."

"Oh no," Ginny gasped, covering her mouth with her free hand. "That's awful!"

"Not completely unexpected," Draco pointed out, gulping down the rest of his wine. "She's not exactly a loving person."

"No one deserves to be cheated on," Ginny sighed, an attempt at an assuring smile on her face.

How right she was. She seemed almost as if she knew Harry was cheating on her. It was probably just a reminder to her that he could be cheating. "You guys had a pretty good season, right?" Draco asked, changing the subject.

Ginny looked lost in her own world for a second before making eye contact with him. "Oh, yeah, well everyone gets lucky sometimes."

"Lucky?" he repeated, his eyebrows now close to his hairline. "You guys are just bloody talented."

"Well, thank you," she nodded, but a sad smile crossed her face.

"What's the matter?" he asked, dipping his head forward to get a better look at her face. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, no," she waved her hand, regaining a sincere smile. "I was just thinking about something our owner was saying to the coach. I overheard them arguing while I was walking to get my broom wax from my kit. They, ah, they're thinking of trading me."

"What?" Draco exclaimed, genuinely surprised and concerned. The Harpies were his favorite team. Why would they trade their best player? "To what team?"

"The Quiberon Quafflepunchers."

"That awful French team?" Draco spat with disgust. "Are they morons? Why would they even think about that?"

Ginny just shrugged, downing the last of her wine. "I suppose what the owner of the team wants, the owner of the team gets. I piss him off a lot. I'm not a fan of going on publicity shoots and all that. He says I'm costing him money."

"That's rubbish," Draco announced. "You'd think even with you not doing all the publicity shite that you would bring in more money than the average player. I mean people go to the games to see you."

"Do you go to see me?" she asked, biting her lip to hide a smile.

He was playing the role better than he thought. "I enjoy the sport, but yes, I do like to watch you play more than the other team members."

Ginny's smile broke out this time, unable to keep it to herself any longer. "Thank you." She blushed and turned to look at the fire.

In a desperate attempt to change the subject, Draco looked around the room for anything to comment on. "What's that?" Draco asked, pointing to a box next to the sofa.

She turned and laughed, grabbing the box and bringing it around. "It's some stuff from Hogwarts. When I moved out of my mum and dad's I threw a bunch of the stuff in here to deal with later. I found it in the closet yesterday and thought I should finally organize it." Ginny began digging through it, pulling out different books, papers, and pieces of clothing. "I'm far to sober to be going through this stuff," she laughed.

"I'll help," Draco offered, pulling a flask from his jacket pocket. He split the contents between their glasses and held his up for a toast.

"Cheers," Ginny smiled, knocking the glasses together before downing the alcohol. "Oh, Merlin, what is that?" she asked, staring into her empty cup with distaste.

"A potent drink made by my elves. It's a Malfoy family recipe," Draco informed her, pulling a Gryffindor tie from the box. "Do you think I could pull this off?" He took his blazer off and tucked the tie under his collar, beginning to wrap the tie around itself. He looked up at her once he had finished. "Do I look like a Gryffindor?" he asked, laughing more than he normally would have.

Ginny covered her mouth with laughter. "I love it!"

"Go put this on," he suggested, pulling out one of her old uniforms. "I'm already dressed for classes." He motioned down at his white button up, Gryffindor tie, and black trousers.

She collected the uniform and went in to her bedroom, stumbling on her way. "I cannot believe this still fits me," she called into the other room, changing. After a few minutes she came out, covering her face in embarrassment. She had her white shirt tucked into her black skirt and had even donned her grey-knit thigh-highs.

Draco stood up to inspect her. "I think we look like quite the upstanding, Gryffindors." He took the extra tie with him, throwing it around her neck and beginning to tie it. His forehead rested against hers. He was still a bit too lost for his liking. He wanted to ignore his plan, and just kiss her without thinking.

"I didn't come here for some book," he told her, unable to stop himself from speaking.

"No?" was all she asked, angling her head up towards his more.

"I came to see you," he said, lowering his face and letting his nose touch hers. They stood in silence for a few moments, looking at each other.

"Kiss me," she said. Her eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted slightly.

He granted her request swiftly, closing the small gap between them. He instantly forgot about Astoria, Harry, and his plan, and pushed the redhead back into her bedroom.


End file.
